Forbidden Love
by SpanishEvenstar
Summary: Guinevere is torn between the love for her husband and king and the love of his best friend.


**Forbidden Love**

The weeks were long and unendurable to Guinevere. Arthur was still away at war and she was left in Camelot to care for Sir Lancelot, who had fallen ill. It had seemed that he would not survive the week, but he'd been alive now for a month, his very essence hanging by a thread. Guinevere felt it her duty to care for her husband's finest knight and do all that she could to keep him alive. Hope was waning; Lancelot's days were numbered, and the city was uneasy. Without the King's best swordsman, how was his army to win this battle against the Saxons?

Guinevere found herself constantly in prayer that Lancelot's health would be restored. And gradually Lancelot's strength was returning. Guinevere would never forget the day that Lancelot opened his eyes and beheld her. Yet surely as quickly as they opened they were closed again. Guinevere called for another bowl of water and she placed more cloth upon his soft, dark skin and watched as some of the cool water dripped onto his dark, curly hair. She smiled and stroked it, letting the droplets flow onto the cushion upon which his head was propped. Then it came to her. Could she be...was she...was she falling in love Arthur's best friend and confidante? The next time Lancelot opened his eyes Guinevere was kneeling over him again, with her hands stroking his soaking wet hair, drenched with sweat. Lancelot smiled and turned his head slightly to take in the woman's beauty. Guinevere smiled in response and pressed another wet cloth onto his burning forehead. The tides were turning and she kept anticipating the return of her king; she was growing ever more hopeful as the days wore on.

As Lancelot began to heal more quickly Guinevere became his lone caretaker, dismissing all her ladies and the nurses. Soon his delirium began to fade and his strength returned ere another week was over. His body was soon purged of the illness and his strength fully restored. It was on the day of Lancelot's dismissal from his room when Guinevere heard of Arthur's victory in battle. His time of arrival was estimated for a few days yet, and Lancelot was biding his time. He didn't think it could come to this but his feelings were undeniable. He had fallen in love with his caretaker, be she his best friend's wife and his queen, who he had sworn to serve at their wedding. He saw her out on the castle walls and approached her softly as she searched the horizon for any messenger from the Camp.

"I would like to thank my lady for her sacrifice in healing me," he said, putting a strong hand on her shoulder. Guinevere turned and looked into his eyes. She couldn't deny her feelings any longer, and so longed for him, but realized that her husband would return soon.

"It was no sacrifice, Lancelot," she replied, turning back to the horizon. She had to resist...a dark warrior of mysterious lineage was not going to deter her from loving her king.

"I don't know how much time you spent nursing me, but everytime I was restored to consciousness I saw your face. You should have been with your ladies, waiting for your lord to arrive instead of nursing a dying man."

"Lancelot, someone needed to care for you. As my husband's closest friend and strongest knight I felt it an honor to care for you."

She turned back to the wall, and as the sun began to set along the horizon she turned back into the castle with Lancelot following close behind her. Arthur's arrival was estimated for two days hence, and Guinevere and her ladies hastily prepared the castle for the army's arrival back into Camelot; cooking a huge meal and bringing out the banners and the emblems.

Neither of them could stand it any longer. Guinevere's every thoughts now turned not to her husband and king's return, but rather to the man to whom she had tended for weeks. She decided she needed a break, and sat in the windowsill of the quarters she shared with Arthur; dwelling upon her empty bed as of late and her utter loneliness at being married to a man who she rarely saw. Yet she loved him. He was so wonderful to her; always treating her with the respect she deserved, even though they had barely known each other when they were wed. And here she was, entertaining thoughts of another man, and not just any man—Arthur's best friend! Of all the malicious things! Was she going to stoop to the level of a harlot, enticing all the men of the castle while her husband was away at war so that her bed would be warm at night? It was unthinkable. Yet she was thinking it.

She heard the heavy wooden door to the room open, and she expected one of her ladies requesting her presence in the kitchen. She stood up, only to find Lancelot standing there.

"Lancelot!" she cried in shock. The light from the window hit his body in such a way that he seemed to glow; radiance emanating from his body, his dark eyes glistening in the sun. She wanted him. She wanted him so badly. Lancelot himself was taking in the beauty of his queen, her fair hair flowing in the light breeze that was coming through the window, her blue eyes wide in surprise. Desire was overwhelming him and he couldn't bear it. He took a few steps closer to her, his heart beating so hard and so fast it was almost deafening. Guinevere watched as he approached her, his dark skin barely concealed over the linen shirt he was wearing. It was summer now, and both of them could feel its heat. Lancelot was entranced by the breeze catching onto her dress and waving it about; she appeared an angel standing in front of him. He could contain himself no longer.

"I want you, Guinevere."

"And I you, Lancelot." Yet she held her ground and would not move.

"Then why not take me now?" he inquired, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I am in service to my lord," she replied, avoiding looking into his eyes for fear of letting down her guard. He seemed not to listen.

"Arthur will not return for a few days."

"He could return at any time."

"Who's to know, Guinevere? Just spend a moment with me, no one has to know." Tears began to well up behind her eyes and she could not hold them back.

"You know you want me. Just one moment is all I ask."

"One moment could become ten moments as short as it may be. It is a moment I cannot give to you." She pressed her hands against his arms and gripped the linen tightly. The tears were flowing steadily now.

"I know I am in the service of my lord and queen, but I will not leave until we are both satisfied." Guinevere laid her head on his shoulder. She said nothing. Lancelot took her chin in his fingers and looked into her eyes, wiping her tears with his thumbs. She was dying inside. Torn between two men, one the king of Britain to whom she was bound, the other equally honorable...but in the service of his king and queen. Lancelot himself was torn, torn between the love of his king and now the love of his queen. One moment...that was all he needed. Then he could forget about it all and be satisfied. Or would her figure next to his king at the council of the Round Table throw him off-course and lead him to rash actions?

He continued to hold her face, and as he stared into her eyes he knew that she loved him. He understood her frustration in the choosing between two men. But he would have his moment with her, be it however long.

"I love you, Guinevere," he said.

"You love me and your king," she replied.

"I'm not concerned with him, Guin. I love you." Finally the passion inside of them erupted and he grabbed her face tightly, pulling it close to his and pressing his lips to hers. She let herself fall into his kiss and as she explored the confines of his mouth a sudden amount of guilt overwhelmed her, but she couldn't let go. She wanted him almost as much as he wanted her. Guinevere grabbed Lancelot's head and pulled him closer to her, taking in his very essence, his very humanity.

Suddenly she heard a noise. A very unwelcome noise. Lancelot had heard it too, and they separated and turned their heads to the door. There he stood, fair and regal, the very essence of Britain incarnate. The king had returned.

"Arthur!" cried Guinevere, and immediately dropped her arms. This turn of events she had not expected, but here it was. He had caught them. His right-hand man and his wife, his queen, engaged in an act that only he had imagined he would share with her.

"You're back so soon!" Lancelot said, placing his hands behind his back. Arthur's eyes burned with rage. Sir Gawain stood next to him, who looked at the pair in shock.

"What is this?" Arthur demanded, as though trying to burn a whole through Lancelot's eyes. At Guinevere he looked in sadness. "My closest friend and my wife, embracing in such a manner in my own castle! Where did I fail you, my love? How could you do this to me?" Guinevere flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and listening as judgment was declared on Lancelot. It was a huge mistake...and she prayed for the mercy of Arthur, not because she continued to desire Lancelot, but because she could not bear to have Lancelot's head on her conscience. She had made a grave mistake, and only mercy and forgiveness could rectify it. She would spend the next month doing penance and in prayer. As for Lancelot, she'd pray for his life; it was the least she could do.


End file.
